


safe place to land

by bodtlings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Nightmares, and comforting allura, my heckin JAM, shiro with a nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9354920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodtlings/pseuds/bodtlings
Summary: When Shiro has a particularly jarring nightmare, he turns to Allura to help reign in a panic attack, and Allura is right there to help him come down.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saphruikan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphruikan/gifts).



> whats up fam its ur local kid bringing u more voltron hows it goin.
> 
> this was a commission from my favorite fake on the planet [saph](http://saphruikan.tumblr.com) who also...beta-ed this? wow. so fake.
> 
> feedback always appreciated, and u can always find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hajimetxt), [tumblr](http://bodtlings.tumblr.com), and my commissions page is over [here](http://bodtlings.tumblr.com/post/150711098277/hello-everyone-im-gonna-keep-this-as-short-as)! enjoy kiddos.

_You will never be enough to defeat me, Shiro, no matter how confident you are in your team, your borrowed arm—whatever shred of capability you’ve convinced yourself you have._

Shiro was standing in the middle of a void blacker than the deepest parts of space he’d ever witnessed. There were no stars, no lights, no nothing as far as he could see. Sendak’s voice bounced around to envelope him in the grating noise of his enemy, and Shiro’s fingers had begun to drum in the air at his sides. Whether he was anticipating something or hoping for it, he couldn’t tell the difference—he just needed to know he wasn’t alone, wasn’t just hanging in space with an open target on his chest.

With a frantic sweep of his surroundings, Shiro tried to find a grip on a wall, find a staircase, _something_ to latch on to. Sendak’s gritty laugh was like the rubbing of stones against Shiro’s temples, and it took all he had in him to remain upright.

 _There’s no way out, Shiro. Look around. There is nothing here for you, just like there is nothing for you back out there._  

_Come back to us._

_We can help you, make you stronger._

Screams ripped themselves free with a frightening ferocity Shiro didn’t know he possessed, and he started to run towards an unwelcoming emptiness.

 _Come back, Shiro._  

Sweat gathered on his neck, in the palm of his only human hand, and with a footstep gone too far, Shiro fell down unimaginable depths, surrounded by nothing but an infinite vastness that could only be seen as terrifyingly stifling. As he fell, Sendak continued to laugh with carefree joy at Shiro’s expense.

_You’ll be back. And we’ll be waiting._

 

* * *

 

Shiro jolts upright on the mattress, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and his scream mixed with Sendak’s amusement still ringing in his ears from his nightmare. His chest hurts from breathing so heavily, but even though he’s coherent, he can’t slow it down. The sheets are tangled in his legs, his heart is threatening to be liberated by force, and his head feels as if Voltron personally stepped on it multiple times.

Shiro can register his hand shaking. He raises it to his face, watches the tremors through unstable vision, and slams his fist against the headboard with a hissed, “Damnit.” 

From somewhere in the back of his mind, Shiro remembers Pidge telling him to try counting by threes to help him concentrate on something when he’s panicky and can’t control his breathing. He’s hesitant, because taking Pidge’s advice means admitting he’s not okay, and admitting he’s not okay puts his insecurities at the forefront of his thoughts, which do not help in a situation like this. Reluctantly, Shiro closes his eyes, grabs onto the sheets in tight fists for some semblance of grounding, and follows Pidge’s instructions.

He doesn’t make it past twenty-one—his vision around the edges has started to turn black and the shaking in his arm has not only increased, but spread to his legs. If not for his Galra arm, a full-body tremor would have rendered him entirely immobile. 

Shiro doesn’t know what to do, but he has to think fast unless he wants to faint from lack of oxygen, which is not something he’s keen on doing. Alerting the other paladins would only worry them, and Shiro knows they have important training instructions and guidelines to implement in the next few days ahead; if he can keep their anxieties at bay, he’ll do so.

Shiro thinks about going to see Coran, but Coran is unfamiliar with the workings of human anxieties: the last time Coran had seen something along the lines, Pidge had a minor anxiety attack when returning from one of Voltron’s run-ins with Zarkon’s fleet. Pidge had fallen to the floor in the control room on their knees and couldn’t breathe and couldn’t stand to be touched until it was over. The other paladins, Coran, and Allura waited it out, but Coran was particularly upset he was powerless to help.

With Allura as his only safe choice, Shiro scrambles to get out of bed, legs fighting with the sheets coiled around his limbs like a sea monster dragging him back to the depths for eternal confinement. Shiro remembers the sensation of falling in his nightmare, the black hole that threatened to rip open his chest, and the sinking feeling of plunging through utter darkness hammering at his ribs. Sendak was laughing in his ear again, reminding him of his inadequacy at being the pilot of the black lion and his lack of skill in defeating Zarkon and his army. Shiro’s legs thrash about and he falls off his bunk, shoulders hitting the floor and legs falling over the sides. His hands claw at the floor to get him to stand up, and all attempts at stealth or silence to get out of his room and to Allura’s chambers are shattered.

Shiro throws his door open and runs down the paladins’ section of the castle. He passes the training deck, the dining area, and the kitchen before making a sharp right toward where he knows Allura is. His feet guide him automatically, and his stride only quickens the pace of his breathing. He knows that he needs to slow down, but he also knows that if he doesn’t get there as soon as his legs can carry him, the panic will take over. Having Allura find him on the floor is not ideal, so Shiro pushes forward.

In his blurred vision, Shiro sees Allura’s door and collides with the wall, heaving breaths and knocking with urgency with his human hand. His eyes close involuntarily, his knees start to shake, and he’s sure his legs are about to give out when Allura opens the door. “Shiro! Are you alright?” 

Through raspy breaths, he leans his forehead on the doorframe and wheezes out, “Please. I need to. Calm down.”

WIthout a word, Allura wraps one arm around Shiro’s back and leads him inside, closing the door behind them. She guides him to the corner of her bed and he collapses onto it, leaning over his knees and struggling for air. When she sits next to him, Allura pushes back his shoulders and presses her hand into the small of his back to get him to sit up straight. “You can’t have a constricted path for air,” she whispers. “Give your body space to breathe.”

She holds him up like that and wills her eyes to not look at the pained expression on Shiro’s face, letting her fingers trace circles on damp skin. “Do you feel my hands?” Shiro nods once. “What shape are they making?” 

“Allura, I can’t—” 

“What shape, Shiro?”

Shiro’s breathing is still ragged, but Allura watches his eyes darting from behind closed lids and he exhales in a hurry out his nose. She watches his concentration slowly refocus on her fingers instead of on hyperventilating, and though it is a marginal difference, the worry lines on Shiro’s forehead begin to smooth.

They’re quiet for a few minutes -- Shiro concentrates on the circular pattern Allura maintains on his back and Allura gives him the space to do so. They don’t talk, they don’t touch aside from Allura’s hands, and even then she forces herself to not grip too tight, not press too hard. 

Shiro comes down to the steady assurance that is Allura, and though his pulse is still irregular, it’s quieted down considerably. There’s an ache in his chest from breathing so hard and the promise of a headache is beginning to form at his temples, but he lets his shoulders release their tension and relaxes his tensed muscles. Allura notices but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stop her circles, until Shiro opens his eyes and gives her an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry.” His voice is gravelly, foreign to his own ears and ruined by sleep and the aftermath of dreaming.

Allura lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “Why should you be sorry for feeling?”

“Well, no, I meant—”

“I know what you meant. There’s still no apology necessary, Shiro.” Allura raises her hand from Shiro’s shoulder, and moves to touch his cheek but stops halfway, silently asking if he’s okay to touch. Shiro nods, and Allura lets her thumb slowly move across Shiro’s cheek. Her skin gently brushes the edge of the scar across his nose, and she feels Shiro flinch more than see it; her hand retracts as fast as if she’d touched something hot, but Shiro’s hand catches her wrist before she can move completely away.

“Sorry, it’s okay,” Shiro tells her, and Allura can’t help but grin and shake her head.

“You need to omit that word from your vocabulary,” she jokes, and slowly replaces her fingers back to Shiro’s cheek. Allura sees the hints of a grin from Shiro and allows one of her own, teaching her fingers patience as they move to Shiro’s forehead. With a gentleness unrivaled, she moves her thumb across his worry lines that ease under her touch and the light crease of bunched worry between his eyebrows. Allura travels across Shiro’s face with gentle calmness, careful to avoid the scar across the bridge of his nose, and watches as the remnants of Shiro’s nightmare recede. 

With a whisper of impossible fragility, Shiro says, “Thank you,” and something in Allura breaks at the sound.

“You’re welcome,” she assures him, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

After another minute of Allura’s comforting tracings, Shiro goes to move off the bed in what Allura estimates is an attempt to return to his room, but Shiro’s knees don’t support his weight and he begins to fall. Allura catches him, steadies him back on the mattress, and holds on to his shoulders. Shiro looks up at her, looking as if he knows the answer to a question he hasn’t even asked yet, and braces for the rejection anyway.

“Could I—” 

“You should stay.”

Shiro and Allura stare at each other, and they're both relieved when Shiro asks and Allura agrees, just like he knew she would. They stay there, wide-eyed and nearly disbelieving, for a brief moment until they both start to laugh, soft and quiet. Allura whispers another, “Yes” before standing up to pull down the covers on the other side of the bed. Shiro, afraid his legs will fail him if he tries to stand up again, shuffles from the corner of the mattress to the other side and up next to Allura, who jokingly starts to fluff his pillow. Shiro shakes his head and slips under the warm blankets. _They smell like her_ , he thinks to himself, but when in the bed of a princess who smells like wild flowers and sunlight, the need for complaint is lost. His body begins to sink into the mattress and his eyes are heavy, but Shiro still has the lingering fear of his last nightmare. His human hand fidgets with the blanket, and Allura turns over to face him. 

“Are you—” She stops herself short, reconsidering her words. While she gathers what she wants to say, Shiro’s eyes map out the loops and curls and never-ending spirals of Allura’s hair on her pillow. Allura’s fingers start to become restless, an inquiry on her fingertips, and Shiro watches her try to find the words. Before he gives her enough time to properly formulate whatever sits at the tip of her tongue, he reaches out for Allura’s hand in a silent tug towards him. All that’s left is the final question of compliance in the rise of Allura’s eyebrows, to which Shiro smiles in affirmation. Allura shuffles over, resting her forehead on Shiro’s chest with their hands beneath them and their legs a tangled mess. Shiro rests his chin atop her head and closes his eyes as he feels Allura link their fingers and draw circles with a fingertip on unexposed skin.

“You can come back, you know,” Allura murmurs, and she almost wishes Shiro was asleep so he doesn’t have to answer it. But he replies with a lilted hum, and she stops her movements. “When they get bad again. The dreams. You can come back.”

Shiro gently removes his hand from Allura’s, and for a moment the sinking feeling of dread spreads through Allura, but is quickly quelled when Shiro’s arm loops around her waist to pull her closer. She forces herself to stay still, lest her rustling drown out anything Shiro might say, but she feels something of a smile against the crown of her head. 

“Thank you, Allura,” he says against her hair that smells like wild flowers and sunlight, and Allura’s tension sinks away as they fall asleep.


End file.
